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Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Organized For Murder (Organized Mysteries #1) by Ritter Ames Excerpt

Organization expert Kate McKenzie is on track to make her new
business, STACKED IN YOUR FAVOR, a hit in small-town Vermont. But when
her first client, the wealthy Amelia Nethercutt, is found dead, the job
takes a decidedly sinister turn.

Kate thought she and her family were making a fresh start in her
husband's hometown, but she quickly learns that small towns can hold big
secrets. When her first client is poisoned just after Kate leaves her
mansion, she knows she's gotten off to a bad start. But things only get
worse when the police find Kate's fingerprints on the murder weapon,
suddenly putting her in the position of suspect number one. The
stopwatch is ticking for Kate to prove she had nothing to do with the
murder, and the odds are further stacked against her when items stolen
from the Nethercutt mansion start showing up in the McKenzie home. Now,
Kate must trust her methodical skills and expert eye to sort out who is
trying to frame her and to find the real killer before she's organized
right into a jail cell.

Next, completely unload the room or closet, distributing discarded
items into correct boxes. Return only “keepers” to the target
area.

Stacked in
Your Favor, LLC,

Kate McKenzie, Pres.

Business Planner for Job # 1 DateWed., April 7th

9:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. -- Meet with Miss
Amelia Nethercutt at her mansion
to organize her and her late husband’s exotic collections.
Magnificent sprawling home and grounds. On phone seemed eager to
learn organizational techniques, says she scrapbooks and keeps a
daily journal,. Spend time telling how to develop her vision, to make
a date with herself each day to keep living space organized and
de-cluttered. Also, since she’s a collector, offer the
“One-in/One-Out Rule” so old replaced item always goes out when
new item is purchased.

Chapter
One

“On the second day, I decided widowhood was
infinitely better than divorce.”

“Miss
Amelia!” Kate McKenzie caught herself, and her teacup, an instant
before the Lapsang Souchong escaped over the gleaming gold rim and
jeopardized the Aubusson rug’s brave print. While the cream and
sienna tones of the carpet would have accepted the tea stain like a
distant relative, such an accident threatened to be an uneasy
alliance. Especially as Kate courted this new, and particular,
client.

Amelia
Nethercutt took the still-clattering china from Kate’s hands and
settled the pieces on the gleaming rosewood coffee table, then said,
“It isn’t as if I don’t know the pros and cons of both marital
dissolution options, my dear. This was my fifth, no, sixth marriage—I
keep forgetting Joey—and receiving an inheritance is much more
liberating than monthly alimony.”

Kate
stiffened on the white-on-white Victorian sofa and hoped her smile
didn't look like a grimace. She again swatted a irritating flange
from peacock feather and gilt-streaked twigs arrangement that invaded
the personal space around her left shoulder. While her tentative hold
on sanity remained, she wondered where common sense had fled when she
agreed to work sight unseen in this procurement madhouse.

Façades could be most deceiving; Amelia’s
and the mansion’s. The woman’s exterior resembled that of her
home—a sweeping drive and professional styling. Even Kate’s first
look inside of the house, the foyer with its elegant mahogany
collectible cabinet standing guard against taupe-colored grass-cloth,
fooled her.

Then she’d seen this parlor, the study, the
bedrooms, the conservatory, the library, and . . . well . . .
all the other “treasure rooms.”

This first workday revolved in a repetitive
nightmare of list making, supply ordering, prioritizing, and attempts
to stem the overwhelming need to hyperventilate. Even her never-fail
categorizing system of Reject, Recycle,
Resell, Return, and
Review periodically failed to keep
Kate’s panic at bay. Finally, for the first time ever, she gave up
and began dividing the upstairs by what rooms were wholly trash and
which might be salvageable. Of course, this never meant she would
actually be allowed to throw out anything, but she persevered. Until
Amelia called from downstairs and said it was time for a “tea
moment.”

Her
last ally disappeared as Mrs. Baxter, the Nethercutts’
cotton-haired cook, had bustled in bringing the tea tray and placed
it near Amelia. “Nice meeting you, dearie,” she said to Kate,
before straightening her pink pillbox hat and telling her employer,
“I’m going to the market and the drugstore. There’s a cab
waiting. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

Amelia
nodded, pouring the tea as she spoke, “That’s fine. And I left
some budgeting papers on the front table for the garden club
vice-president. Please drop them off while doing your errands.” She
had smiled at Kate then and added, “I’m president, again, this
year, you know.”

Kate
didn’t know but assumed the comment was rhetorical.

“The
material is out in the foyer,” Amelia called to Mrs. Baxter, and as
she waved toward the front door her spicy, nose-tickling scent
perfumed the air. “I’ve made some exciting suggestions and
changes. They will require a few club members to reflect a bit before
complete acceptance, especially our esteemed vice-president,
Gabriella Cavannah-Wicker. Your taking the packet will expedite
matters admirably, so everyone has adequate ruminative time.”

Mrs.
Baxter rolled her eyes heavenward behind her thick lenses. She left
via the front door, just as Kate performed her teacup juggle in
response to Amelia's disturbing pronouncement. A statement
particularly unsettling in light of her late-husband Daniel
Nethercutt’s particularly recent demise.

Amelia
picked up the sugar bowl and offered, “There’s nothing like a few
minutes for tea.”

The smoky smelling brew looked dark. Kate added
a liberal dose of milk, and worried about the exquisite teacup,
musing whether the liquid was capable of eating through the fragile
porcelain.

Once more she should have listened to her
instincts, but, as usual, decided to focus on the positive side and
be nice and agreeable. Landing a rich client seemed a godsend for her
new organizing business, Stacked in Your
Favor. Besides, it wasn’t difficult to
believe her initial unease due to the fact only a week had passed
since Mr. Daniel drifted off to whatever heavenly reward a compulsive
collector deserved. At first, Kate worried Amelia was one of those
bereaved spouses who too quickly decided to “clean house.” But
Amelia insisted. Amelia insisted on everything, and Kate’s backbone
turned to butter.

In
this room alone, the front parlor, majolica plates competed with
marble busts and conch shells. A stuffed and seriously flaking
crocodile, missing its right glass eye, crouched in one corner.
Beside the door, a stack of piano sheet music stood as high as Kate’s
waist, but she’d yet to find any kind of keyboard instrument in the
house. The outdoors were brought inside with a collection of faded
garden gnomes simulating hopscotch near an overgrown spider plant.

Jeez! What
had she gotten herself into? Could she even finish the job by the
time her first-grade twins graduated from high school? Amelia didn’t
need an organizational expert as much as a designer with the balls of
General Patton! Or a bulldozer.

And
how should she respond to a comment contrasting spousal death with
divorce? She decided to ignore it and try wiggling out of the mess
she'd let her size eight flats walk into. “Miss Amelia, I’m not
sure I’m the best person for this job. My business is
organizing spaces and archiving items. However, you have many
precious treasures here needing—”

“Nonsense,
Kate. I picked you because you are perfect for this chore.” Amelia
rose to her full six-foot stature and glided to the bookcase by the
door, the silvery silks of her caftan trailing like the wake behind
the QEII. “I’ve known your mother-in-law since college,” she
said, flipping pages of a ragged yearbook as she navigated back. “You
couldn’t find a woman more in control of things than she, whatever
the task. So, I knew I had to hire you.”

Kate’s
mother-in-law, Jane McKenzie, did indeed know how to keep things in
their place, but this did not mean her son’s wife possessed
superhuman talents. With the elder McKenzies currently finishing a
Caribbean cruise, Jane had been unavailable for consultation prior to
her daughter-in-law accepting this assignment. Kate opened her mouth
to try to explain family ties and genetic capabilities to Amelia, but
stopped as the scent of Chanel No. 5 preceded a voice in the hall.

“Yoo-hoo,
Mummy, where are you?”

A
shadow flitted across Amelia’s patrician face, but disappeared so
swiftly Kate couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it.

“Ah,
my stepdaughter, Sophia.” Amelia smiled as she called, “Darling,
in the parlor.”

Seconds
later, a trim figure sashayed into the room and Kate suddenly felt
fat and shabby in her working twills. Though no taller than Kate’s
fit five-and-a-half feet, brunette to the organizer's blond, Sophia’s
lean frame and personal trainer-esque, toned body gave the appearance
of runway perfect, with no hint of any past pregnancies. Dressed in
simple black slacks, a white blouse that whispered money—lots of
it—and dark glasses resting atop long, dark tresses, Kate was
reminded of a reincarnated Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. Until the
woman smiled. To her knowledge, Jackie O never resembled a cobra when
greeting people.

Kate
forced herself to move toward the woman, instead of yielding to an
instinct to cower back. “I’m Ka—”

“This
is Kate McKenzie, Sophia, dear.” Amelia wrapped a protective arm
around her shoulders. “You remember my saying I wanted to get an
expert to help me categorize and organize. It’s time I put this
house into working order. I haven’t seen dozens of my own things
for a decade, and can’t possibly know everything your father
collected before our marriage. There are probably unknown riches in
here.”

“No
doubt.” Sophia raised an eyebrow and turned piercing black eyes on
Kate. “I had no idea you were going to act so quickly, Mummy. I
would prefer strangers not paw through Father’s things.”

Amelia
waved the comment away like an irritating insect. “Daniel was an
open book about his possessions and loved to share them. I know he
would welcome Kate to this project.”

Sophia
folded her arms. “We need to discuss this. There are a number of
things I can't locate of Father's, and I don't think having a
stranger—"

“I’m
making a few revisions to my will. With Daniel gone it’s the
responsible thing to do. Your father and I agreed on most things, but
how we distributed our estate was always a compromised affair. Now,
of course, I can do things any way I like.”

Bending to pick up the tray, Kate freed
herself, both physically and figuratively, from the scene by saying,
“Since Mrs. Baxter left, I’ll take these tea things into the
kitchen. Or would you like some, Sophia? The pot feels heavy enough
for another cup.”

“No,
thank you.”

“Well,
it’s nice meeting you.” Kate nodded as she passed the angry young
woman on the way out the door.

“And
you,” Sophia returned, arms again locked across her chest and her
gaze trained on Amelia.

The
galley-sized kitchen was the only clutter-free area in the house,
likely due to heroic efforts by Mrs. Baxter. Kate was convinced the
mansion had been purchased solely because it was the only residence
in town large enough to accommodate the extensive Nethercutt
collection. The place brought to mind an eBay warehouse.

She dropped the tray a bit too heavily on the
tiled island, near a sleek crystal vase holding fragrant Lily of the
Valley blooms. Because the outside of the teapot still felt warm, she
used a small towel to cover it in case Amelia wanted another
fortifying cup after dealing with her evil stepchild. Two steps to
the sink, and she was soaping her fingernails one more time. She knew
all lingering dust and grime was probably gone, but . . .

“Hi.”

Startled,
she jumped back and upset the tall vase with an elbow. The clear
glass rocked at the counter’s edge, and Kate, heart in her throat,
grabbed the base, making the rescue just milliseconds before a
shattering disaster.

“Sorry,
didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Danny.”

The
vase was safe, but Kate felt as if her body had splintered into a
billion pieces. She snatched a towel from the countertop, then swiped
at her hands and took two deep breaths. Feeling calmer, she turned
and smiled at the teen who filled the back doorway. “Oh, hello, I’m
Kate McKenzie.”

Danny
looked about sixteen, at the gangly stage where all the pizzas and
junk food in the world couldn’t possibly fill out that final burst
of height. He wore baggy jeans and a flapping flannel shirt over a
t-shirt imprinted with the multi-washed logo of a local heavy metal
band. He removed the lid from a Hansel-and-Gretel styled cookie jar
and added, “Saw the wicked witch of the west go in the front door,
so I slipped around back.”

“You
mean—”

“My
Aunt Sophia.” Danny bit into a chocolate chip cookie. He poked the
rest of the cookie in his mouth and lifted the jar, offering a
muffled, “You want one?”

“No,
thanks.” Kate waved a hand over the tray. “I had tea with your
grandmother.”

He
made a face. “Did she give you the awful stuff?”

“It
was Lap—”

“Yeah,
that’s the awful stuff.” He stuck out his tongue. “She always
drinks it too strong.”

Kate
couldn’t resist. “There’s a little more in the pot if you’d
like some.”

They
both laughed.

“Well,
nice to meet you, Kate McKenzie.” He snatched three more cookies
from the jar and clunked down the lid, then nabbed a can of soda out
of the refrigerator. “My dad and uncle should be here soon. Gramma
gave me her old roadster, a MG, and Dad wants Uncle Thomas to check
everything out before I drive it. ” He flashed a dark look.
“’Course, that wouldn’t be necessary if Gramma would buy me a
new one.” Then he flashed Kate a grin like he was kidding all
along.

Or
being a smart-aleck teen. Obviously
someone in the Nethercutt family was trying to instill a little
character in the lad. She hoped it worked since, despite the grin,
she noticed the humor never reached his cloudy green eyes. Aloud, she
asked, “Is Thomas your Aunt Sophia’s husband?”

She
received a snort in reply.

“Sophia would never live with a man who
doesn’t mind grease under his fingernails.” Danny shook his head,
slipping the cola under an arm to free a hand for the doorknob.
“Besides, Auntie is into old geezers who die quickly. Has her
current husband locked away right now, drooling in his oatmeal and
telling his private nurse about his childhood during the Great War.
Uncle Thomas is Gramma’s son. You should see us all together at
family holidays.”

I
think I’d rather not.

The
door slammed shut and she smiled, wondering about this teen and his
talkative nature, and couldn’t help but suspect he was up to
something. He demonstrated none of the antisocial, sullen behavior
other moms warned was in the not-too-distant future for Kate with her
own twins. However, she didn't completely trust this first impression
persona was the dominant one for Amelia's grandson either. She
chalked the feeling up to maternal instinct.

Her
twins! If Danny was out of school, then her daughters Samantha and
Suzanne had already been dismissed as well. What kind of
organizational expert didn't keep track of the time? She should have
checked her Master List. Kept up with the time. Too many things to
remember, so much running through her head. She had to . . .

Stop!
Take a deep breath.

Sanity
restored, she snapped the rubber band on her left wrist as she
inhaled one last time. Number five
for today.

The corner cuckoo clock set her in motion, and
she pulled the daily master list from her pocket. No stops on the way
home, just hurry to relieve her husband, Keith, from his after-school
parental responsibilities, get dinner on the table, and send him off
to his job on time. She scooped up her purse and dashed through the
swinging kitchen door, offering the women in the parlor a hasty
goodbye before streaking out the front, with Amelia calling, “Hug
those sweet darlings of yours for me.”

Yet, even as she hustled to her blue van, Kate
relished for a moment the heightened view boasted from the Tudor
mansion’s lofty setting, the tiny town below gaining a doll-like
quality. She saw the distant radio tower for local talk station WHZE,
where Keith was evening sports anchor. The station was small, but the
management's commitment to New England was sports rock solid, and as
a homegrown hockey hero, Keith was approached for the job soon after
the new format became public. The four McKenzies had moved to his
hometown of Hazelton, Vermont six months before, and lived a few
miles from his parents. The move had been a good one so far. Since
Kate’s parents were deceased, the girls loved having a doting set
of grandparents nearby to spoil them.

Keith had played B-string goalie ten seasons
with various major league hockey teams, eight while the couple was
married, before blowing out a knee and calling it quits. The timing
had definitely been right. All the moving and politics kept a steady
strain on their marriage. Before the move she only knew Hazelton
from sporadic Currier and Ives-like Christmas visits, but loved its
winding rural roads and the picturesque Main Street that unfolded in
open friendliness as travelers emerged from a centuries-old covered
bridge at the town’s eastern boundary. Kate also found being
married to the returning prodigal citizen automatically made her a
local. Or close enough, anyway.

Unfortunately, sports-talkers in small New
England cities did not make what even moderately-successful hockey
players did. With the twins in school all day, Kate finally persuaded
Keith to take on more duties around the house and allow her time to
start a business. He’d balked at first, but she’d found an
advocate in her mother-in-law. Once Jane McKenzie stepped into the
discussion, her son didn’t have a chance. When he’d looked to his
father, George, for moral support, the elder McKenzie just shook his
head and ducked out the backdoor with his pipe.

Kate smiled as she merged into traffic for the
short drive home. It’s always said men marry their mothers. At
first, she’d felt a little uneasy about the idea, but no longer.

A red Jeep parked at the head of their
cul-de-sac barred her from entering. The vehicle was Keith’s and he
had the neighborhood kids whooping and hollering as they used the
paved circle for an impromptu Rollerblading rink. Two teams, players
distinguished by the mismatched shirts they wore of either blue or
red, battled a hard rubber puck with street sticks toward opposite
goals. Kate’s blond-curled daughters were the masked and dueling
goalies. She parked and took her place alongside other parents
watching their helmeted offspring, all clapping and whistling over
the triumphs and groaning for the mis-skates.

Meg Berman, hair fiery bright in the spring sun
and still wearing garden grubbies, waved her over and called out,
“You just missed Sam dive for the puck. She saved the red team.”

Kate’s daughter Samantha turned at the words
and waved at her mom. The puck flew Sam’s way again, courtesy of
Jeremy Hendricks, daughter Suzanne’s crush of the week, and this
time the hard plastic flew unhindered into the net.

“Blue team wins!” Half the kids cheered,
skating to form a middle line for the best-sportsmanship handshake
Keith always mandated.

Her husband took off his helmet, his wavy brown
hair tumbling free, and joined one end. “Congratulations, blue
team. Red team, nice effort on your part, too. Sam, we have to work
on that attention span, though. Don’t forget.”

“But, Daddy, Mommy is here.”

Keith turned his hundred-watt smile Kate’s
way. Even after almost nine years of marriage she felt the familiar
flutter in her heart.

“Hi, honey. We’re about finished.” He
reached out and grabbed a twin with each hand.

“That’s fine. I’ll go in and start
dinner. It’s sloppy joes, so hurry.” Kate pointed to her watch.
“You don’t have much time.”

The other kids and parents dispersed. Kate
walked with Meg. “Looks like you’ve been gardening.” She
motioned toward her friend’s gloves and the claw-like hand tool.

“The only way to stay optimistic something
flowery will eventually come up is to keep acting like Mother Nature
is on-track.” Meg sighed, slipping her hand under one arm to remove
a glove. “It’s been too chilly this year, but I have faith the
pastels will pop out soon. More important, what’s the Nethercutt
mansion like inside?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to
believe it. Let me decompress for a bit, then I’ll try to find
words to describe the place.”

“Maybe I could come help you on the job and
see it for myself,” Meg coaxed, wiggling thin brows in a hopeful
look that made her freckles dance.

“You can’t imagine what you’re
volunteering for.”

Meg’s
two boys, five-year-old Ben and eight-year-old Mark skated up, their
wheels making a sizzling sound across the asphalt, then silence and
synchronized thunks
as they jumped in tandem to the sidewalk. Ben might have been
smaller, but was already a match for his big bro.

“Mom,
can we go out for pizza?” Mark begged, screeching to a stop just
inches from Kate's toes.

“Please,
Mom, since Dad’s not gonna be home tonight?” Ben backed him up,
his head just grazing Mark’s shoulder. Meg’s husband, Gil, a
columnist for the Bennington paper, covered state government and
often had to stay in Montpelier.

Meg frowned, but Kate saw a tiny smile fighting
to break free. “How can I say no when you tag team me like this?”

“Or, you’re welcome to come share sloppy
joes with us,” Kate said, knowing how much the boys loved to talk
hockey with Keith.

“Can we?” they chorused.

When their mom nodded, Kate sent everyone
toward her house. “Just let me get the van in the garage.”

Five minutes later it was controlled chaos in
the kitchen. The kids alternately relived successes and defeats,
filling Kate in on the action she’d missed while she browned
hamburger and laid out the other ingredients. She handed Suzanne a
stack of place mats, then frisbeed paper plates to the boys. “You
guys set the table together, okay? Get extra napkins, Sam.”

Everything was simmering nicely, both food and
conversation, when the business line rang.

“Stacked in Your Favor. Kate McKenzie
speaking.”

“Mrs. McKenzie,” an acid voice responded.
“This is Sophia Nethercutt-White. We met today. You were working
for my stepmother.”

“Yes.” Kate noted how the woman’s
greeting neatly put her into her place. “Can I help you?”

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